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You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink.
“I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?”
Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.”
As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
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"HO HO HO HAH! GOOD EVENING ALL!" Booms a small mountain. The man lowers his face to normal eye level. "Being clandestine I see our Mr. Dreng." He says his eyes wide and sparkling. They dart among the assemble Pathfinders like bull's eye lanterns. The man's voice pitched to perhaps the deepest, most exaggerated whisper ever. He smells as if a brown bear had wandered into a brewery after a rainstorm. "I am Pietro! HAH!"
"Espionage! I LOVE ESPIONAGE! Especially in a pub! HOO HA HA!"
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"I can see you'll be pretty good at it too, mate." A dark-skinned woman with a sonorous voice speaks up. Looking at the group, she chuckles. "With this many warriors, we'll be great at espionage."
She takes the paper from Dreng and nods at the Venture-Captain. "It'll be nice to visit some history, regardless."
"I'm Carini, newly in port from Geb, and this'll be my first assignment with the Society. Looking forward to success with all of you."
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The group thinks about what they know about the storied history of the Wounded Wisp.
Pietro is pretty sure it serves beer.
Dreg looks a little pained at the priest.
“Sometimes you need more than magic to remain unseen. This disguise serves its purpose and lets me pry secrets from loose lips better than any magical enchantment. Right now, I’m following up on a group operating out of this district that I believe to be associated with the Onyx Alliance… it’s a bit of a long story, but sufficed to say, this disguise is quite important to my investigation.”
The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another.
Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.
Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
Following the death of Selmius Foster on the island of Bhopan, his assistant Adolphus made several donations to maintain one of his mentor’s favorite sites. The exact arrangement between Adolphus and the owners of the Wisp was never disclosed, but it is said that some of this gold came from the same fortune that Adolphus used to found the Pathfinder lodge in Quantium.
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Gratius is a tall half-elf, with a grim face and black hairs wearing a simple black leather, a big backpack and a symbol with winged eye around his neck.
His weapon is a massive Glaive and at his side, a morningstar, a longsword and a dagger.
You command, we obey Venture-Captain Sir !
Says Gratius.
To his new comrades he says Happy to meet you. I'm Griatius Laelius, from Egorian.
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"Hmm.... The Wisp? That place is an absolute DIVE!! Ah well, who wants to live forever? Hahahahah!" Pietro laughs so hard that his hook-headed morningstar* bounces wildly about his back.
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A crazy looking gnome with bright pink hair and dark bushy eyebrows sniffs Dreng in his disguise. His leather armor is tied on with string, it seems, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed.
"GET PACKAGE! YAH YAH! GET PACKAGE!" Clearly, he is not a subtle one.
On his hip is a strange looking tool, with a hammer on one end and a pick on the other. His other hip holds a dagger and a small sack. On his back are strapped three small spears. He also is carrying a small set of bongo drums tied around him with another string.
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Untir stands miserably shivering in the rain. He looks up at the sky, wondering when the rain would stop. Living almost his entire live in the desert of Osiriani, Untir is used to annual seasonal downpour that last a few hours and clears, not to nonstop mind numbing drizzle. He holds his bow in his hand, hoping that the rain does not damage the bowstring too much. A longsword hangs on one side of his belt, while strange smells emanates from a large pouch hanging on the other side.
Not being one for words, Untir merely nods in agreement to the assigned tasks, examining his unusual teammates in turn.
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The Wounded Wisp is located in the Foreign Quarter district of Absalom, close to the grounds of the Grand Lodge. Uou have no difficulty finding the establishment with the map Dreng provided.
Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”— that hangs there during the evening hours.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink.
An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
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Pietro stands out front for a moment and offers a moment of thanks to his patron hoping in return for a little guidance to the proper privy once the time has come. Then he wanders in and up to the bar.
Just past the entry hall he bellows a huge laugh and asks if everyone is well. He waves at those to far away to shake hands with and slaps on the back, or shakes with everyone in reach along the way, laughing as he does so. No one will not know that he is present in the establishment. People trying to sleep next door know he is there.
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"I'm late. I'm late. I'm late!" Zootloot mutters to himself as he races through the streets. Someone gave him directions to the Wounded Wisp and he had been racing to catch up with the group he was assigned. "Ah! There it is." he say when the swinging lantern comes into view.
The small orange-haired gnome bursts through the door in time to see a very large man laughing and greeting everyone in the bar. That must be the priest they were telling me about. He approaches him and between the man's loud words introduces himself. "Hey priest!" a small voice calls from below, "I'm Zootloot. I'm supposed to meet you guys here?"
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Unavoidably, Zootlook's attention is drawn to the bar where he sees another gnome, with pink hair, making a commotion. "My kinda party!" he says and zips over to join him. With his back to him, the pink-haired gnome doesn't see him coming so he taps him on the right shoulder then sits down on his left. "Hey barkeep! I'm ready to show my friend here," he points to his right, "what real gnomes are like. Pour me a big drink!"
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There are a lot of other people in the bar, but to your trained pathfinder eyes there are probably four tables of particular interest.
The first, up on a raised bit of the floor has half a dozen folk gathered around it. Definitely wet-behind-the-ears pathfinders who look like they may be about to head off on their Confirmation.
Towards the middle of the room, a table has two large half orcs sitting at it. The two green-bloods like very similar and seem to be having a heated discussion about whether axes are better, or axes...
Proppiing up the bar is a man dressed in a scholars outfit with an open book in front of him and a hefty measure of Cayden holy water in front of him.
Lastly there are a couple of men sitting in the room having a heated discussion about the finer points of Saranite theology.
Hanging up your cloaks you get a general feeling for the buzz of the place. There is some muted excitement in the air, apparently Sir Reinhart (whoever that is) is going to become a God. Today!
The woman behind the bar smiles at Gratius "You have found her! Things are a bit busy just at the moment. I'll escort you down below to get your package once my replacement arrives. Have a drink and take a load off for five minutes, she shouldn't be long."
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Looking at the two gnomes at the bar, Untir can't help but frown. Is this what the Pathfinder Society is about? Have I made a mistake?
Untir hears with his sharp ears the halfling briefing what appears to be other new Pathfinders. Let's find out more first before I judge so hastily. He drifts over near to where the halfling is and listens in.
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Making her way straight to the bar, Carini arrives with Gratius, well before Pietro. Since the half-elf is already asking after their contact, the Garundi woman amuses herself as she watches Cayden Cailean's herald greet the entire bar.
"You listen well now and study up! So that I do not have to. HAHAHAHA!" He slaps the halfling woman's back with gusto.
"HOO HOO HOO HOO!!"
"WELL AXES OF COURSE!!"
"HAHA HOO HOO!!"
"HERE! READING IN SUCH A SACRED PLACE!!" Pietro shuts the man's book and looks at him reproachfully. He pulls a leaflet from his vest pocket--the Placard of Wisdom!
"RIGHT! I WOULD LIKE TO LEAD YOU ALL IN PRAYER!" Pietro announces to the neighborhood. He clears his throat and gets all serious as if he were a ham actor about to recite a monologue from a tragedy. In a deep, deep, somber voice he reads from the Placard--the holiest of holy texts of his church. "'FOR A GOOD TIME CALL!'" And then he tips his head back and howls like some crazy three-headed chimera. Wolves should bellow so loud to one another over miles of benighted forest. When he's finished he looks around at everyone else, incredulous, and demands: "WELL?!"
"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
"HA! It's all a blur to me." He muses and beams.
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"Well, if we have to wait, I'll have something local. Ale or wine; whichever you recommend." She scans the room. This being her first assignment with the Society, and newly arrived to Absalom, she recognizes nobody. She decides that a conversation about weapons looks as entertaining as anything, so she approaches the half-orcs. Before sitting down, she motions to the empty chair. "Seat open?
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Overall
Pietro passes through the bar like a tornado. It would seem that everyone knows his name.
After he starts reading out from his Placard, and just prior to the wolf call, a wit from the back calls out "Pietro!" to general merriment.
The Boartusk twins
Carini sits with the green bloods who introduce themselves as Garl and Shrade. "Cone join us. We were just discussing how axes are much better than sissy weapons like guisarme's", says Garl, or was it Shrade.
"Who can even pronounce guisarme anyway?" says Shrade...or was it Garl.
"We're pathfinders..." they say together. Although it would seem they may have misplaced their wayfinders,
At the bar
The scholar looks on in horror at Pietro. "You're splashing ale on my book!" however as he leans forward to lick it off, you're not too sure if he was more worried about the waste of alcohol (surly a sin of the first degree) or the condition of the book.
He turns to look for Zoot, but his eyes pass right over the gnomes head. "Bored? " he asks looking around, and only on a second pass noticing the pair of dwarves.
"Certainly not. The ale is fine, and the book is a work on the early Taldane attempt to take Absalom by siege. A fine work, well worth the read."
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The guisarme rising over her shoulder shivered as Carini shifted her weight in her seat. Eyebrow raised, she looked from one half-orc to the next with a look that might almost be called pity. "You are kidding, right?" She points to the sweeping blade arcing over her shoulder. "It's pronounced however you like to say it, and axes are no good when you're lying on your back."
She gives them both a hard look, then rings forth with a smile. "Now let's have a beer and agree that they're both better than a boring sword." She winks.
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halfling
The halfling is discussing a planned trip with the new proto-pathfinders. It sounds like they may be thinking of visiting the Mwagli expanses. "Insect repellent is definitely required" advises the halfling. "And you should make sure you pack equipment that would be good against a swarm of creatures too. I like alchemists fire myself.."
Boartusks
The boartusk twins both drink to that. "Swords are for sissies." says Garl.. or is it Shrade?
"I'm your sister and you don't catch me using a sword" replies... the other one.
The historian"
"But that is where you are so wrong" he starts. "The true history of the world... and that is what the pathfinder society looks to discover... so many unwritten tales. Better than the best story you have heard from a bard let me tell you. Why... did you know that when the machine mage set his siege on Absalom..." he starts to lecture.
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To thehalfling...
Untir does his best to shut out the loud outbursts from the (permanently) inebriated cleric and the rambunctious gnomes, to listen to the halfling's briefing. It seems there are Pathfinders who take their work seriously.
"Sorry to interrupt, ma'am. I am still new to Pathfinder Society. I come from the Osirian deserts. Seldom do we see swarms. What use is alchemist's fire?"
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"We were all new once" beams the halfling. At her neck hangs a wayfinder. "I'm Janira! As I was explaining to these youngsters here.." she gestures to the pathfinders clustered around. "Some monsters you can't kill with a sword."
You hear sniggers from the table with the Boartusk twins. "Or an axe.. " she continues loudly.
"Skeletons" comes the comment from the table in the middle with the two men discussing religion.
Janira's face is a mask of exasperation. "I'm thinking of swarms. Clusters of small animals or insects. You can kill one or two, or ten, but the swarm keeps coming. You need magic, or a weapon that can affect a large number of the creatures at the same time. Such as alchemists fire. Kill enough of them and the swarm breaks apart."
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Janira shows off her wayfinder. "It is a wayfinder. Mine was given to me after my Confirmation. Helps avoid getting lost, and some have other special abilities. Like if you put an ioun stone in them, you don't need to have it float around your head!"
The scholar's face, red already from drinking too much splutters at Zoot. "I care about history, and you should too, or you will be remaking all the mistakes of the past."
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Carini resumes her conversation with the twins. "So it turns out that I am a Pathfinder too. I suppose most are, here, given the history." She waves her hand at their apparent lack of a Wayfinder. "I'm only starting out; I haven't earned the elusive Wayfinder yet. Have you been on many missions yourselves?"
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After a while, Gratius relax a bit and listen to his comrades. When the scholar responds to Zoot he intervenes.
I agree with you. History is important. Sometime we tries to make things wright, but the past can't be change and mistakes must be avoid to not repeat history.
I'm Gratius, nice to meet you scholar.
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The scholar tips his hat, and then realizes he isn't wearing one.
"Ahh, a fellow scholar! My pleasure to meet you too Gratius. OF course one must be a little careful about pleasures too. Why, when I think back on how Argasie, initiate of Calistra almost caused the downfall of house Draxus of Cheliax..."
The chatter among the new pathfinders with Janira is about how handsom Sir Reinhart is. "Surely his is touched by Shelyn." sighs one young lady. "And her favor must help him with the test."
A new barman arrives, and Heryn gestures for you all to join her.
She escorts you behind the bar and through the kitchen when two cooks are preparing food. From the kitchen you are taken into a backroom and then door some stairs into the basement.
The basement of the Wounded Wisp is a stonework affair, having had its foundation strengthened following a significant donation by a Society member. IT shows signs of substantial damage.
Probably the earthquake of 4698
A set of wooden stairs descends from the main floor into the tightly packed storeroom. Barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes are pushed against the walls or under the stairs.
From there she leads you into a ruined chamber..
Formerly a meeting room where the staff of the Wounded Wisp could converse or take time off between shifts, but damage from an earthquake means it is not often used any more
Several fissures split the floor, leading down into darkness.
A rickety plank spans the gap. Heryn walks slowly and carefully over it. "Take care here.."
She then points to the room beyond which seems to be a wine cellar.
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Gratius is no scholar but he understand the power of History and Knowledge. Thank you for the history lesson, scholar. Hope to have other lessons with you in the future.
He says to the old man when Heryn make the sign she was ready to go.
He follows her in the basement, taking care of her warning and says after looking at the plank, walking at half-speed and care.
Be careful comrades, don't move fast on the plank or something could happened. If some of you have abilities with repairs, he could make it safer.
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"Thank you, Janira, for your advice. I look forward to my Confirmation as well." Although somewhat still stiff, his smile is genuine. "It looks like I have to go now," he adds before joining the rest of the party.
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Untir clearly gets even more uncomfortable in the cellar as the stone walls and ceiling block out the sky completely. He nods to Gratius in thanks for the advice and follows his lead, crossing the plank slowly.
"I'm sorry, I am not trained in such skills. Not much use of it in the desert."
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Carini came to Absalom because she was eager to become a Pathfinder. The Society had fame all over Golarion, but the secrets of Absalom itself remain its own secrets. As she walked through this place, Carini knew she was walking past mysteries, but she had no clue herself what they might be.
What amazing stories this room must be able to tell.
She looks down into the chasm and at the plank as she crosses, and sees what others have warned. She steps very cautiously as she crosses. "Indeed Gratius; I don't think I could improve on it either, but I see what you mean; it's not ideal."